


interstellaires

by halfaday



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Pre-Slash, sea and moon gods kind of bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:09:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfaday/pseuds/halfaday
Summary: after days of letting the winds carry his glances and hopes, the son of the moon finally allows the son of the sea to properly meet him
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	interstellaires

**Author's Note:**

> saw [this tweet](https://twitter.com/dochidoII/status/1317467738944667650) and my mind went 'son of the moon meets son of the sea! tides!' and my hands proceeded to follow the lead
> 
> formatting may look weird but thats bc general style of this fic is not,, usual nevertheless i hope you enjoy

'it's you,' doyoung says. back turned to his roaring home, instead facing the large rocks by the cave — observing the algae, the seashells, the darkness covering them, and waiting, patient, expectant,

for the shimmers they hide around this time of the day, for the glances that are fleeting, for the shape that always runs away when they meet eyes with him -

to stay.

'it's you,' he repeats, gentler — covered by the waves, and the wind — wrapped in sunlight, and warmth

in the belief that today will be different, and that a change is right at the corner, right at his feet — lost in the waves behind him and slowly, slowly, slowly reaching the shore — aiming to land in the sand, until it is picked up by human (half-godly) hands. right there, right here — if only he reaches for it,

(he hesitates, remains where he is.) (he's made it this far with his words — no point in risking to lose it all to satisfy his impatience.)

'it's you. isn't it?'

if only it is willing to be picked up.

brightness, darkness, move behind the rocks — unnatural light lets doyoung catch glimpses of it, and shadows appear here, there; in corners and on the sand. fingers _(fingers,_ doyoung repeats to his fragile heart) appear on the side of the improvised (now familiar) hiding spot

they shine, reflect the light of the sun, and doyoung is curious — lays a hand on his chest, and suppresses a smile.

_come,_ he wishes to say. amongst a thousand other things — but he settles for silence, and watches, as the fingers slide down the edges of a rock — as they press it, and a forearm appears, bright, a pale shade of grey.

reminiscent of a familiar light, of something that incessantly pulls doyoung in, then away — something he's looked at for years and years, throughout his entire life — something that has his heart fluttering, and panicking in his chest.

_come,_ he mouths, eager, _greedy —_ but no sound comes out, and it takes a strong will not to crane his neck, not to run towards the stranger — doyoung cements his feet to the ground, and waits — tells his heart to be patient, and hopes for the best.

and the best pokes out. once, as a test — a flash of light brown, of rosy blond; grey skin and nervous eyes, that dive back to their hiding spot —

twice, 

as an anxious revelation — ochre locks playing with the wind, big brown eyes staring back at him — pale grey peeking out, and remaining still for a moment. a head poking out, waiting — striking doyoung with its sharp features, making him desperate to see more — leaving an imprint in his heart, perhaps, and pulling him in.

_come,_ doyoung thinks, then swallows down his throat, to never say again around this stranger — because he is the one who should come, the one who is attracted

he fists the fabric upon his chest, clutches it as if it could protect him from a drastic turn of events — 

_stay,_ he whispers, begging, 

and takes the smallest step forward.

he waits, for seconds, minutes — fears that his action will lose him, _the other_

— but the stranger remains where he is, perfectly still — only his eyes get bigger, then return to their original shape

(doyoung realises what he witnesses is an _okay,_ an acceptation of his request, and he smiles, small, containing his excitement)

(he takes another step forward - then another, and another)

the sand is gentle, soft under his feet — it carries him diligently, and forbids him to lose himself to the hastiness his heart is experiencing. it keeps him grounded, reminds him of the moment, forbids his mind to derail and tangle itself in threads he should not consider — it remembers him, and knows who he is — guides him, as it should, and shields him from mistakes.

it's a short walk, a few meters only — it appears kilometres long, to doyoung,

and it's with a sigh of relief that he comes to a stop before the rocks. hand shaking against his chest, heart following its lead against his ribcage -

he waits, hesitates — steels himself for whatever will follow, and inhales.

'stay,' he repeats, softly — eyes set in the immobile brown pools

(lingering on the straight nose, and the dainty pink lips — tracing the contour of the stranger's jaw, and wandering down their neck, where rocks hide the rest of them, and imagination has to fill in)

'stay.'

he lifts a nervous hand, and rests it on a higher rock, as support — bridges the distance between the stranger and himself, slowly, and comes to a halt before them,

_him._

forearm retracting to his side; grey skin hidden by a glinting dress, large, black and made of stardust; minuscule crystals by his eyes, sprinkled on his cheeks as if they were tears streaks; a thin neck, skinny silhouette — brown eyes that do not once look away, and that stare and stare and stare,

in awe, in fright — with knowledge

the son of the moon is gorgeous, if nothing else — heavenly, as expected, if doyoung had ever expected to meet him here, there, anywhere.

but he hasn't, and the presence of the son of the moon here is unforeseen - is a sight to question and ponder on, even. he's supposed to be miles away

where night reigns, and he keeps her company

(where his duty calls for him, and he follows it wordlessly)

but doyoung knows, and feels the pull right before him — knows the son of the moon feels it, too, and he smiles, amused —

lets himself lean forward, just to satisfy the universe, just to satisfy his own heart, and says, 

'it's you.'

and he swears he sees the brown eyes flicker to his lips, swears he sees them glancing to his chest

his smile widens, and he laughs, breathless —

gives back what he swears he witnessed, and ignores his heart, echoing in every part of his body.

'it's you,' he repeats, 

almost if he knew the son of the moon, almost as if they'd once been great friends, and this was their first time meeting in forever — bending to his heart, the pull, the ocean in him, and embracing it.

and before him, the son of the moon must understand — because he lets out a sigh, and blinks — he lets go of his anxious expression, and instead allows a timid smile to climb onto his lips.

'it's me,' he finally replies

  
  


(and at doyoung's back, right by the sun, homes leave the two to themselves.)

**Author's Note:**

> title might be edited aha i have no idea what im doing <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/millesoirees)


End file.
